歌曲 | Thug for Life |
歌手 | Kool G Rap |
专辑 | The Giancana Story |
下载 | Image LRC TXT |
作词 : Fireson, Wilson | |
I'm thug for life, ain't no changin me | |
I'm thug for life, ain't no changin me | |
I pop off guns and live dangerously | |
I'm lot more ****** than you aimin to be | |
My Range bling, platty chain hang to the knee | |
I'm thug for life, ain't no changin me | |
[Verse One] | |
Aiyyo, who got the drop, my gun been ******ed | |
Spits from four-fives to flintlocks, pinky finger with the pimp rock | |
Hustle on dim blocks and sip Henn-rock | |
Draw quick, got a second hand like Big Ben clock (ya heard?) | |
Reach for that heat, put your wig in the wind pop | |
Fill your belly with ten shots; if I get hit | |
and you see blood then flood the bullet wound with gin shots | |
Put beef in a Slim Jim box | |
******* you wanna pinch and win slot | |
Clap lead until your big friend drop | |
******z'll front until I send chin shots | |
Beat the rock until they send cops (or what?) | |
'Til one of us'll get carried out on the thin cot | |
Emergency room skin chopped by ten docs | |
Got it locked like a bid in the state pen box | |
When I dares peers hangin to where my *******n stop; before I struck rich | |
****** ******* and killed 'em with a ten inch ****** (f'real) | |
******* ****** stuck him with a ten inch ock (y'know?) | |
Bread bloods and stiff vodka, deep in this game | |
Know the feds want the clique locked up | |
We love brain so we headhunt like witchdoctors | |
My lil' momma let lead dump from big poppa | |
Even the Jake surrounded the spread with pig choppers | |
that taste preposterous; tear gas, tanks of oxygen | |
Like we in banks with hostages (what we want?) | |
All we want is minks and ostriches (what?) | |
Diamond cuff links and proper *******t | |
Snitches left stinkin in carpet stiff | |
Or get they carcasses turned to link sausages (f'real) | |
Ain't nuttin sweet, we known for bangin cartridges | |
We got the heart for this | |
No matter how light or dark it is (ya heard?) | |
(No matter how light or dark it is, f'real) | |
Thug for life (what?) Rep by strips (killers) | |
Let loose clips (dealers) Stack mad chips (you know we) | |
Bag bad chicks (my ******z) Push fly whips (all of the) | |
Hoes blow ****** (******) G flows sick (what?) | |
[Chorus] | |
[Verse Two] | |
My whole life about chrome rims and stone gems (what?) | |
Big boned skins, Capone brims, ****** blown in my own Benz | |
Quick to Scarface thugs who raise up blown brims | |
Dolla trickin never politickin with grown mens | |
Ideas of settin me up for loot I won't bend | |
Just make that light bulb at the top of your dome dim (uh-huh) | |
Who rap-happy ****** keep the lyrics and poems grim | |
Get found at the bottom of the river with stone Timbs (word) | |
Babyface, swimmin flash stomach and toned limbs | |
Wake up every mornin work out in the home gym | |
Reppin this rap game until my zone ends (uh-huh) | |
'Til mixin boards melt down, the microphone bend (yea) | |
I spit about street *******t but never condone sin | |
Kept it thug for life baby followed my own trend | |
[Chorus] | |
Kid!! Word.. thug *******t | |
Queens *******t for life ****** |
zuo ci : Fireson, Wilson | |
I' m thug for life, ain' t no changin me | |
I' m thug for life, ain' t no changin me | |
I pop off guns and live dangerously | |
I' m lot more than you aimin to be | |
My Range bling, platty chain hang to the knee | |
I' m thug for life, ain' t no changin me | |
Verse One | |
Aiyyo, who got the drop, my gun been ed | |
Spits from fourfives to flintlocks, pinky finger with the pimp rock | |
Hustle on dim blocks and sip Hennrock | |
Draw quick, got a second hand like Big Ben clock ya heard? | |
Reach for that heat, put your wig in the wind pop | |
Fill your belly with ten shots if I get hit | |
and you see blood then flood the bullet wound with gin shots | |
Put beef in a Slim Jim box | |
you wanna pinch and win slot | |
Clap lead until your big friend drop | |
z' ll front until I send chin shots | |
Beat the rock until they send cops or what? | |
' Til one of us' ll get carried out on the thin cot | |
Emergency room skin chopped by ten docs | |
Got it locked like a bid in the state pen box | |
When I dares peers hangin to where my n stop before I struck rich | |
and killed ' em with a ten inch f' real | |
stuck him with a ten inch ock y' know? | |
Bread bloods and stiff vodka, deep in this game | |
Know the feds want the clique locked up | |
We love brain so we headhunt like witchdoctors | |
My lil' momma let lead dump from big poppa | |
Even the Jake surrounded the spread with pig choppers | |
that taste preposterous tear gas, tanks of oxygen | |
Like we in banks with hostages what we want? | |
All we want is minks and ostriches what? | |
Diamond cuff links and proper t | |
Snitches left stinkin in carpet stiff | |
Or get they carcasses turned to link sausages f' real | |
Ain' t nuttin sweet, we known for bangin cartridges | |
We got the heart for this | |
No matter how light or dark it is ya heard? | |
No matter how light or dark it is, f' real | |
Thug for life what? Rep by strips killers | |
Let loose clips dealers Stack mad chips you know we | |
Bag bad chicks my z Push fly whips all of the | |
Hoes blow G flows sick what? | |
Chorus | |
Verse Two | |
My whole life about chrome rims and stone gems what? | |
Big boned skins, Capone brims, blown in my own Benz | |
Quick to Scarface thugs who raise up blown brims | |
Dolla trickin never politickin with grown mens | |
Ideas of settin me up for loot I won' t bend | |
Just make that light bulb at the top of your dome dim uhhuh | |
Who raphappy keep the lyrics and poems grim | |
Get found at the bottom of the river with stone Timbs word | |
Babyface, swimmin flash stomach and toned limbs | |
Wake up every mornin work out in the home gym | |
Reppin this rap game until my zone ends uhhuh | |
' Til mixin boards melt down, the microphone bend yea | |
I spit about street t but never condone sin | |
Kept it thug for life baby followed my own trend | |
Chorus | |
Kid!! Word.. thug t | |
Queens t for life |
zuò cí : Fireson, Wilson | |
I' m thug for life, ain' t no changin me | |
I' m thug for life, ain' t no changin me | |
I pop off guns and live dangerously | |
I' m lot more than you aimin to be | |
My Range bling, platty chain hang to the knee | |
I' m thug for life, ain' t no changin me | |
Verse One | |
Aiyyo, who got the drop, my gun been ed | |
Spits from fourfives to flintlocks, pinky finger with the pimp rock | |
Hustle on dim blocks and sip Hennrock | |
Draw quick, got a second hand like Big Ben clock ya heard? | |
Reach for that heat, put your wig in the wind pop | |
Fill your belly with ten shots if I get hit | |
and you see blood then flood the bullet wound with gin shots | |
Put beef in a Slim Jim box | |
you wanna pinch and win slot | |
Clap lead until your big friend drop | |
z' ll front until I send chin shots | |
Beat the rock until they send cops or what? | |
' Til one of us' ll get carried out on the thin cot | |
Emergency room skin chopped by ten docs | |
Got it locked like a bid in the state pen box | |
When I dares peers hangin to where my n stop before I struck rich | |
and killed ' em with a ten inch f' real | |
stuck him with a ten inch ock y' know? | |
Bread bloods and stiff vodka, deep in this game | |
Know the feds want the clique locked up | |
We love brain so we headhunt like witchdoctors | |
My lil' momma let lead dump from big poppa | |
Even the Jake surrounded the spread with pig choppers | |
that taste preposterous tear gas, tanks of oxygen | |
Like we in banks with hostages what we want? | |
All we want is minks and ostriches what? | |
Diamond cuff links and proper t | |
Snitches left stinkin in carpet stiff | |
Or get they carcasses turned to link sausages f' real | |
Ain' t nuttin sweet, we known for bangin cartridges | |
We got the heart for this | |
No matter how light or dark it is ya heard? | |
No matter how light or dark it is, f' real | |
Thug for life what? Rep by strips killers | |
Let loose clips dealers Stack mad chips you know we | |
Bag bad chicks my z Push fly whips all of the | |
Hoes blow G flows sick what? | |
Chorus | |
Verse Two | |
My whole life about chrome rims and stone gems what? | |
Big boned skins, Capone brims, blown in my own Benz | |
Quick to Scarface thugs who raise up blown brims | |
Dolla trickin never politickin with grown mens | |
Ideas of settin me up for loot I won' t bend | |
Just make that light bulb at the top of your dome dim uhhuh | |
Who raphappy keep the lyrics and poems grim | |
Get found at the bottom of the river with stone Timbs word | |
Babyface, swimmin flash stomach and toned limbs | |
Wake up every mornin work out in the home gym | |
Reppin this rap game until my zone ends uhhuh | |
' Til mixin boards melt down, the microphone bend yea | |
I spit about street t but never condone sin | |
Kept it thug for life baby followed my own trend | |
Chorus | |
Kid!! Word.. thug t | |
Queens t for life |